


The Ragnarok

by LeNoLifeLoser



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Politics is fun, Some political discontent, This is just how I see Ymir growing up, Ymir and her backstory, Ymir said she could relate to Historia so I built a fic around it, doesn't really have anybody but Ymir until much later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-19
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-03-08 04:55:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3196052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeNoLifeLoser/pseuds/LeNoLifeLoser
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ymir's past is cloaked in mystery. No one seems to know how she got there, where she came from, who she is, or how she came to be. "Why would you go to such lengths to find me?" "Who knows, maybe because we're alike?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Ymir!” Boomed Lord Ragnarok across the courtyard. “Daughter mine, what are you doing?”

               Ymir, wide eyes, ruffled hair, and drenched in sweat, yelped, straightening to look at her father, tall and lanky form leaning backwards, away from the threat. Her younger brother, Heimdall, jumped to his feet, standing between his sister and father. “Father! We were simply playing!”

               The Lord scoffed and stormed across the courtyard, purple cape billowing around him with every step. Ymir winced. She was in trouble once more. “Both of my children, should know their places!” The Lord snarled, slapping the son with the back of his hand. He calmed almost instantly after the clap echoed about the courtyard. “Heimdall, my son, go play with your brother.” Heimdall, nursing his stinging, red cheek, ran away after a grim nod to his sister, white cape covered in soot and grime whipping about at his feet.

               Ymir braced herself for the punishment she was inevitably going to receive. “Father…”

               The Lord held his hand up in silent aggravation. “Ymir, you are old enough to understand your place, I cannot tolerate your disgrace any longer. You are weak, you belong inside, learning the proper etiquette of a Lady of your stature. I’ve put up with this behavior for nine years now. It’s time it ends. Now, go, do not let me catch you playing such wretched games again.”

              

 

               Ymir turned to her maidens, narrowing her eyes. “What could my father, The Lord, possibly desire?” She drawled, staring down at the girls before her. They were only a year or so younger than her, but she was tall for her age, and these girls seemed to shrink before her. At thirteen years old she held a great deal of power and political prowess that scared most visitors and absolutely terrified those who knew her.

               One of the braver girls stepped forward. “We know not, Lady Ymir, we have been sent by the Lord himself to prepare you for his presence.”

               Suspicious, since Ymir’s father rarely required her existence unless there were important visitors, such as the great Emperor, whom she had so easily charmed. But the gray shawl and elegant, silk-like toga draped across her shoulders and wrapped perfectly around her taut body, hinted that this meeting was almost, if not more, important than meeting the supreme ruler of the four Cardinal Kingdoms. Ymir allowed her young guides to bring her to her father’s throne room, something she could have easily achieved on her own, but her father’s orders were not to be disobeyed.

               Sophisticated, and perfectly postured, Ymir entered the room. Her eyes were naturally drawn up the huge, lavishly sculpted Greek pillars, blending seamlessly into beautiful Roman arches that seemed to glow with an austere, very symmetrical design, seeming to conflict with the ornate ceiling and decorated pillars but instead only highlighting the artfully crafted architecture. The room could house fifteen Titanic Warriors while they stood at full height. However, Ymir’s favorite part of the room stood at the opposite end of the gigantic double doors. Across from her, lighting the room with sunlight, a huge stained glass mural towered to the ceiling, it was the battle of the Cardinals. Thousands of Titanic figures, warriors, stood shoulder to shoulder, facing off Heathens that outnumbered them by millions. That particular day in their history had been a mysterious day, Ymir’s mother had told her. Because on that day, the Kingdoms were cleaned of the Heathen destruction, but many lost their memories, and much of the human population simply vanished. No one knew the outcome of the battle. Though, Ymir assumed that the Warriors had won, had they not, she doubted any humans would be left to tell the tale of defeat. The sight of the ornate art was marred however, by the two throne obstacles and the four figures standing between her and her beloved mural.

               She glided forward, a special skill her mother had taught her. _A lady must always be graceful and clever._

               Ymir finally reached them, finally capable of seeing the four figures more clearly. Her father sat in the largest, finely decorated throne directly in the middle of the room. Her elder brother, Surt, lounged in the smaller throne lazily, as if he hadn’t a care in the world, red cape draped, nearly touching the floor, over one arm. Heimdall stood to the side, sword at his waist and staff in hand, he stood ramrod straight, his feet shoulder width apart. His yellow cape swayed with the breeze escaping through one of the side, servant doors. The fourth figure she did not recognize immediately. His back had been turned to her, but he stood before the Lord as if he were giving a report of something important in the kingdom. His shoulders were tensed in an odd way that made Ymir more curious and confused than uncomfortable. He had broad shoulders and a muscular back. He wore the tight pants and leather armor of a Warrior. His black hair was brushed back into a leather band and his bare forearms and muscular thighs proved his intense power.

               Then the man turned. His eyes were a piercing blue, lips thin and bowed, and his jaw was broad and sharp. He was handsome, yet Ymir did not find herself attracted to him. His broad sword at his hip glinted in the light and she saw his lips twitch into a small smirk. Ymir bowed to her father before bowing to the stranger.

               “Daughter mine,” The Lord spoke jovially, as if he had had a wonderful day. “This is Tyr, our mightiest Titanic Warrior. He has led many in battle to victory and he shall be wed to you come springtime.”

               Ymir gaped at her father. “Father, Lord, I don’t wish to marry.”

               The Lord’s face grew red in anger and humiliation. “I don’t believe I ordered your response, child.”

               Ymir pressed her lips together. “I apologize.”

               Tyr turned to her, bowing with all of the grace of a dancer, Ymir supposed there wasn’t much difference between dancing and fighting. Ymir knew that much from the endless dueling she and her brothers watched, from the light sparring Ymir followed between her brothers, from her own rebellious night training with some of the rough, peasant mercenaries who had taken a liking to Ymir’s well-placed charisma. A lethal dance, it was beautiful, graceful, simple, and oh so liberating!

               Tyr stretched out his large calloused hand, a hand Ymir knew any other girl would jump at the chance to take, and smiled. “Lady Ymir,” He purred silkily. In that moment, Ymir loathed his skill. His eyes told her he had as little care for her as she for him, however, he played the etiquette game so masterfully, with such ease, and Ymir couldn’t stem the jealousy.

               “My beloved,” She simpered, she knew her father and her brothers wouldn’t catch the sarcasm, but by the way Tyr’s face contorted from polite and required courtesy into a bit of hurt and just as much amusement, she knew Tyr had.

               Heimdall moved from the corner of Ymir’s eyes and entered her field of vision, smiling broadly and gesturing widely, openly, a hand towards his father and a hand towards Tyr. “I propose a grandiose feast in celebration! Sister mine and the mighty Tyr! Such a match could only bring strength to our realm!” Ymir did not miss the look Heimdall sent her way, he was giving her an excuse to step away and collect herself and she gladly took it. Tyr wasn’t as remotely repulsive as the multitude of other suitors her father rejected frequently, he wasn’t as old, perhaps only twenty three.

 

              

               It was not at the feast, but the subsequent party afterwards that Tyr finally cornered Ymir on her favorite balcony, hidden from the guests, overlooking the town and giving a perfect view of the vast, endless galaxy above them. “Lady Ymir,” He bowed upon her recognition. “I’ve been looking for you.”

               Ymir couldn’t stop her sneer. “You’ve found me. But perhaps I didn’t wish to be found.”

               Unexpectedly, Tyr laughed. “I can’t say that I blame you. After all to find out you’re to be married without your consent, it must be overwhelming. These parties are sometimes more than I can handle, I can’t imagine how you feel.”

               Ymir stared at him. There was a point to him. He’s looking for something, with the way he was appealing to her feelings, her thoughts, her emotions, that wasn’t proper etiquette, even if he was raised by peasant farmers. “Mighty Tyr, what is it that you are implying?”

               His laughter faltered, only to continue with renewed vigor. “Lady Ymir, you’re much cleverer than your fathers can possibly imagine. But if you must know, I can tell that you’re rather bitter. If not, you’re jealous, and looking for vengeance, am I correct?” Ymir’s attention had been piqued. “I plan to conquer all of our realm, and then the four Cardinals. I’ll drive out every last Titanic Heathen off of the world, and unite our kingdom. I planned at first to overthrow the Lord myself with my army of followers. But I’ve found a much simpler way. Through marrying you and disposing of your father and Surt, I will gain control over this realm. Heimdall is unnecessary, as he is younger, in my marriage to you I become next in line to the throne behind Surt.”

               “And why, pray tell, are you telling me all of this?”

               “Because Lady Ymir, you are a critical part of my plan. I can tell from afar that you will be talented in the art of gaining me followers. If I could just recruit you, I will have the kingdom in my hands. I know, from the fact that you are much cleverer than perhaps even me, that you wouldn’t appreciate my talking in circles or curtaining of my intentions. You have a very rare ability to see through lies. Lady Ymir, I’ve been planning this for a very long time and I do believe that you are the grease to my wheel.”

               Ymir stared at him. “I don’t want to be your wife.”

               Tyr’s smile fell. “Is that so?”

               “However,” She stepped back “I will assist you in your endeavor. I’ll marry you. But do not expect my absolute obedience.” She snarled, brightening Tyr’s smile once more.

               “My Lady Ymir, I promise you shall not be disappointed.”

               Ymir nodded and turned once again to the site to behold before them, rolling hills and giant forests dotted the darkened lands below them, only lightened by the moon and stars looming above. The two remained silent for several minutes, Ymir looking up into the sky, pondering deep thoughts, Tyr staring.

               “I planned for so many different possibilities, but I don’t believe I ever planned for you to be so beautiful.”

              Ymir’s sneer returned. “Sorry to ruin your plans.”

               “I apologize, My Lady Ymir, I misspoke. I didn’t account for your beauty, I suppose I was too caught up in my plans, I forgot to imagine what such an elegant Lady should look like.” Tyr amended awkwardly.

“For a handsome man you lack in finesse with women.” Ymir chuckled.

               Tyr smiled once more. “I’m not lying, I’m sure you know. You’re rather beautiful.”

               Ymir laughed. “Look how far we’ve come. At first, you know, you were complimenting my intelligence, I suppose that must have made you uncomfortable, you had to resort to stroking my vanity instead!” Tyr resembled a scolded puppy and Ymir could not hide her mirth. “Do you not see how caged I am? No. This marriage is not only aiding you, Warrior. I shall gain freedom from this. And should I not, well. I can just as easily betray you.”

               Tyr nodded. “My Lady Ymir, our positions in this dance of an arrangement are clear now. You desire freedom? Then freedom shall be granted!” Just as Tyr finished his tirade a commotion behind them drew their attention. “Ah, that should be my plan coming to order now.”

               “Down! Down with the Lord! Down with the Lord and all of his foolish subjects!” A crazed man screamed, blood covered his clothing and matted his beard. His eyes were irate with insanity. Ymir shuddered. She could guess whose blood covered him, but she put the thought aside to play the part of a shocked orphan. She gripped Tyr’s arm and they entered the room, playing the part of terrified witnesses. A remarkable waltz, they played off of each other in perfect harmony, Ymir couldn’t deny that Tyr would make a great partner in their scheme.

               Surt, his blood red cape cloaking him in a trail of his own fury, roared in anger. “Take him away! Take the traitor away! To the dungeons! He shall face execution!” His voice cracked only once, and then returned to the confident booming he had inherited from his father.

Ymir braced herself against Tyr, grateful that the scared part she played veiled her true terror. Her brother had always been too impulsive and scary for her to spend much time with him. There were screams and chaos in the room, but Surt took control of the room rapidly and precisely. The guests were evacuated away to be interviewed and interrogated. Ymir remained at Tyr’s side until Heimdall appeared before her. “You should leave, dear sister.”

“Heimdall! Is father-”

Heimdall’s face fell. His grim expression struck ice through her gut. “I’m afraid so, dear Ymir. Now go, grieve in private before we must grieve publicly.”

 

 

The funeral was grandiose in scale. The entire realm participated, whether through genuine grief for their Lord or because they were forced to Ymir didn’t know, but frankly, it disgusted her. The procession stretched for miles, marching down streets, drums and chanting leading them forward. They began at the far end of the city and slowly they made their way to the Royal Graveyard, the whole process taking most of the day. Nobody ate or drank, nobody sat and rested, it was a march under the blazing sun, reflected off of the buildings around them, Ymir was miserable. Ymir was bombarded with condolences from everyone around her, every time someone would rush forward to apologize and console, she’d fake a tear and grip at Tyr’s muscled bicep.

Ymir couldn’t avoid feeling offended, after all, it was the blood of her own father, the same blood that flowed through her veins, that was spilled and she had to comfort others over the death of a man she hated? Gods help the people who approached her with condolences accompanied by tears just as fake as her own! As offended as she was, she couldn’t expect any less, she had been through the same process after the death of her mother and gods did she hate that women just as much, caged in dresses and fake smiles, not a thought in that woman’s head was her own and it made Ymir sick.

Tyr was much more supportive than Ymir expected. After all, he had orchestrated her father’s death, she supposed it was a sense of duty that kept him at her side. He spoke for her when she was overwhelmed, after all, it only made sense, and the young Lady was wracked with grief and emotion. Honestly, Ymir didn’t trust herself enough not to scream expletives at them.

It was Surt who was most affected by the Lord’s passing. He created a holiday based upon his father’s birth, he called it the Ragnarok. Something Ymir and Tyr later laughed at. Following his orders, the entire realm was wreathed with black and veils hung over the women’s faces, even the lively young maidens.

Ymir didn’t truly feel her father’s absence until she was called upon by her brother. When she appeared in the throne room, wreathed in black, she noticed her older brother lounging in her father’s throne red draped across the arm of the chair. He wore silver wrist gauntlets and his body was wrapped tightly in black leather. He obviously wanted to be seen as naturally powerful. Heimdall stood to the side where he normally stood, staff in hand, sword at his belt, yellow cape. He looked down upon his sister with the ghost of a smile.

“Sister mine, how’ve you been faring in these trying times?” Surt called, almost jovially across the room.

“Well, brother mine. For what do you require of me?” Ymir asked as she approached the thrones with a graceful bow.

Heimdall stepped down, meeting Ymir personally. “Ah, sister of mine. The realm is in mourning, there is upheaval in some of the outer skirts of town, the people aren’t happy, and the passing of our dear father has impacted us greatly. We ask of you to move your wedding to the week after next, so as to provide the realm with a positive distraction from the Titanic Heathens.”

“It will be grand!” Surt smiled almost dreamily. “I’ll only have the best for my dearest sister!”

Heimdall’s green eyes danced with hope, he had reddish hair, unlike Surt and herself, who both had plain brown eyes and hair. His yellow cape seemed to brighten his dusting of freckles and she remembered just how young Heimdall really was. He was a year her junior, that put him at twelve years old. She looked back over at Surt. He tried so hard to look older and sophisticated, but she could see his eighteen years still written on his face.

Surt stood to pace the thrones. “Your marriage, as Heimdall suggested, should provide us a distraction while we send out the Warriors to take care of those Heathens to our south, give us a good reason to feast and shut up some of those whiny peasants.”

“Yes, Lord Brother, I’ll speak to my beloved Tyr to notify him of this change of schedule. He’ll be most pleased.” Ymir managed a smile.

“Yes, go.” Surt waved her away without another word, not sparing a second thought to his younger sister. As she left, Ymir thought of the freedom she would gain once she and Tyr gained control of the Cardinal Kingdoms.


	2. Chapter 2

“This changes things.” Tyr paced the chamber like a caged panther. Ymir lounged, not unlike her brother, upon the couch, watching her future husband as he mumbled to himself. “Obviously, we can’t take him out yet. Too soon along with his father and Heimdall will suspect something. That kid is too smart for his own good. I don’t want to kill him you know. Children, I’ve never liked watching children die.”

Ymir snorted. “I imagine so, if you were any different I think we’d have to rethink this marriage deal.” She allowed her own morbid amusement to pass over before she furrowed her eyebrows. “Surt mentioned Titanic Heathens in the South, did you know about this?”

Tyr stared at her in poorly masked fear. “No, I didn’t. But it means I may have to lead my Warriors to their aid. Gods, the Southern Realm can hardly fight for shit.” Tyr caught himself too late. He bowed his head. “I apologize for my reprehensible language. I should hold my tongue-“ He stopped talking, he had been interrupted with Ymir’s laughter.

Tears pooling in her eyes. “Tyr, dearest, no need to apologize. The Gods know if I could have evaded punishment for speaking so freely I would have.”

Tyr shook his head, taking a seat beside her feet. “I say we make another deal. We speak freely around each other, we hide no intentions, politeness and manners be damned! Our speech to each other shall not be obstructed.”

Ymir smiled genuinely for once. “I think such a deal can be made.”

Tyr winked, what Ymir could assume would have sent any other girl swooning for him, and patted her knee. “Very well.”

Silence fell in the room, both becoming victim to their own thoughts. “Fighting the Heathens, it sounds dangerous.”

Tyr sent a crooked, ironic smile her way, but she could tell in his eyes that he did not find the subject amusing. “You’ve no idea.”

Ymir sighed, bringing her knees closer to her chest to allow Tyr the space to sit more comfortably on the couch. “I wish I could fight alongside you, I always loved watching the men dance about each other in the duels my brothers watched. My father was always so bloody ignorant.” She rolled her eyes. “I hated him so much.”

Tyr’s throat rumbled with a soft chuckle. “You know, I can teach you to fight. My Lady Ymir, you could fight beside me. Perhaps not against the Heathens, but against pathetic, pitiful men sure.”

Ymir cocked an eyebrow. “I can’t tell if you’re being facetious.” Despite her pessimism, she could not stop the excitement from rising in her chest.

Tyr shook his head again. “I’m not! I mean every word I say, my Ymir. We’re marrying against your will, but that doesn’t mean you must hate me. Please, might we be friends?” He stretched his hand out. Hesitantly, Ymir allowed him to take her hand, kissing it with a charming smile. “I’ll teach you anything and everything you want to know.” He promised.

Ymir watched as he stood to resume his pacing, lost in her own world. She watched him carefully, but she couldn’t bring herself to think anything romantic of the man. But perhaps she could trust him enough. Logically, she knew asking for friendship would be a good first step in courting her, but she wouldn’t allow him to get that far in their relationship. Frankly, she was more terrified about her impending marriage with Tyr than she cared to let on. Gods, what would he expect from her on their wedding night?

“Our marriage shouldn’t change our plans for world domination.” He smirked a bit to himself, amused with his own joke. “However, it means I’ll have to take you with me while recruiting. But it means I can spend less time here ‘courting’ and more time out on the field. Less suspicion should be cast on us if that is the case. Now that I think more carefully, this might be to our advantage!”

“Very well,” Ymir nodded absently, she had her own worries. If he expected anything of her, what would he do when she ultimately turned him down? She made it awfully clear on the day of their engagement that she was not intent on being his wife. Honestly, she had no care in the world about whom he had sexual relations with. Gods, she’d prefer he found a mistress if that meant she was left alone, so long as it caused no scandal.

 

 

Two weeks passed by in a blur and she found herself draped in an earthy brown with strips of gold, green, and black weaved around her body into a complicated, traditional wedding toga that dipped low on her chest and carefully tightened to imply a thin waist and hips capable of child bearing. Ymir’s eyes seemed to shine with flecks of lighter brown and gold, mirroring her clothing. Her hair was braided and weaved around in a traditional hairstyle, common amongst royalty and noblewomen. Her freckles dotted across her skin, standing out due to her brown clothing. She was elegant, and stable. She was the perfect image of a young bride, her clothing and stance mimicked that of Mother Earth, the very reason brides wore brown on their wedding day in the Northern Cardinal Realm.

She stood in the center of her now empty bed chambers. Her things had been removed from the room and taken to her new home with Tyr. Simple furniture such as the bed and her dressers remained, but anything personal, which there wasn’t much, was gone. She did not see the servants remove her things, and she wasn’t concerned. She didn’t need most of those things anyway.

Finally, one of her handmaidens approached her with a worn, rectangular box. “We were told that this was to be given to you on the day of your wedding, my Lady.” She opened the box carefully to reveal a black, leather corded necklace with a golden plate etched with designs on it. Ymir ran her fingers across the black figures on the designs, recognizing the words to be an old language, very old. It took her a few minutes to translate them to say “daughter of the earth” in elegant writing. Around the words careful figures seemed to dance about. She knew it to be a creation myth, the one in which the four personified elements, fire, water, wind, and soul, tore apart the giant, Ymir, to create the universe, gods and heroes springing from the ground as her blood fell into contact with the sweat of the four elements.

_“Mother, why in the hell did you name me after a monster that got torn apart?” Ymir had asked, looking up in horror from her book._

_The only response she got was a stinging pain across the back of her hands. “Ymir! Do not speak to anyone of greater status, or even lesser status, that way! If you wish an answer, reword your question as if directed at your superior!” Her mother glared at her. “As it so happens to be.”_

_Ymir rolled her eyes. “Why did you name me after a monster?”_

_Another slap to the back of her hands, she was sure one day the meter stick her mother used for such punishments would break one day. “I am not your equal, Daughter Mine.”_

_Ymir grit her teeth. “How exactly should I reword the question then?” She growled._

_Ymir’s mother rolled her honey colored eyes. “I say you take after your father oh too much.” She snapped the meter stick again on the desk. “Sit up straight and listen! You begin with the title of the person you are addressing. Never forget to leave out their title. You will say ‘Lady Ragnarok, mother of mine,’ then you will state your question, worded precisely and eloquently, ‘for what is your reason for naming me after such a tragic and monstrous creature such as the giant Ymir, whose fate is less than savory?’ and with that, you will smile graciously, and await an answer politely, your hands folded and full attention on the person answering such a question. When you speak, never run out of beautiful words, Ymir. It’s these words people fall in love with, and if you wish for people to give you what you want, your rhetoric must shine brighter than any star in the sky.”_

_“Does that include the sun?” Ymir’s mother raised an immaculate eyebrow. “Er, Lady Ragnarok, mother of mine, I must ask, er, do the stars my words must outshine include the sun?”_

_She nodded once. “Very well, we will continue our lesson tomorrow, but yes, you must enamor the entire room, Ymir. We are women, we cannot expect to be strong we must use language to guard us.”_

_Ymir rolled her eyes again. “You never answered my question, mother. Why am I named after a monster?”_

_Ymir’s mother gave up. “Because, Ymir, you are a lady. You are nobility and will birth heroes and gods just as Ymir the Giant did. You are the daughter of the earth and shall be just as strong. Yes, the giant’s plight is a grotesque one, but the beauty that came of it is what you shall bring just the same.”_

Ymir shook the memory from her head and touched the necklace carefully. “This was a gift from my mother, no?”

The handmaiden nodded. “Yes, my Lady.”

“Very well, put it on me.”

The necklace was tight and itchy, meant to hold carefully to her throat, to show, not unlike a dog’s collar, who she was. Ymir stood tall and glanced at herself in the mirror. “I suppose I won’t be seeing any of you again.”

Her handmaidens shook their heads wearily. “No, my Lady.” One of them spoke aloud.

“Very well, I wish all of you good fortune.” She spoke dully, the well-wishing almost a duty rather than a sincerity. Her handmaidens nodded.

“We wish you good fortune as well, my Lady. May the Gods look down upon you in favor.”

Ymir left her chambers alone, guiding herself along to find her escort. Surt would be leading her through to her marriage ceremony. He stood tall in his usual attire, though he had a sword at his hip now, he waited for her at the great double doors leading away from the castle that she called home throughout her childhood.

Surt’s face stretched into a smile. “Wow, my darling sister, how beautiful you look!”

She curtsied slightly. “I thank you, my brother, Lord Surt.”

He offered his arm, before touching the gold on her neck. “I don’t understand these words. These pictures, what are they?”

Ymir walked alongside her brother leisurely as they left the castle to the horse drawn carriage she would arrive at her ceremony in. The walk was long, which gave the two plenty of time to talk. “It’s the creation of the world. Did mother never tell you? It was one of her favorite stories, that, and the one of our father’s namesake, the Ragnarok. The words say ‘daughter of the earth’ but the story around it is about the giant Ymir, and the four elements, the beginning of the world as we know it.”

Surt smiled jovially, today seemed to be a good day for him. “Tell me the story then, dear Ymir. I loved mother so much, however my studies took me from her for much of my childhood.”

Ymir nodded. “She adored you, you know. I always seemed to mess up.”

“You were a child, Ymir.”

“Not a good one, I suppose.” Ymir sighed. “Anyway, the story goes as this. The giant Ymir, fell to the four elements. Fire, Water, Wind, and Soul, slew the giant and used her flesh to create the earth. The Gods and many of our human heroes sprung from Ymir’s blood when it came into contact with the sweat of the elements. Mother named me after the Giant because she hoped that I would create something equally incredible such as a hero.”

Surt chuckled. “And so you will, dear sister. Tell me, what of my name? And Heimdall’s as well?”

Ymir smiled, she so rarely had civil conversations with her brother. It was moments like these that made her hesitate in her scheme to kill him. “Well, Heimdall is actually one of the Gods, didn’t you know? He is the guardian of the kingdom of the Gods. Fitting, as he stands guard beside the thrones.”

“It is fitting isn’t it? He’ll be joining the army as soon as he comes of age, after all, it’s his only option. I have a long life ahead of me, and the Realm is mine. However, until then he’ll have a good home here. Perhaps, after he’s returned from the army he’ll become one of my most trusted advisors. He’s a brilliant boy you see.” Surt smiled affectionately, sniffing at the air. “A beautiful day to send my beautiful sister to marry in a beautiful wedding.”

“You’re in a wonderful mood today dear brother. But I do believe you’re right. Heimdall has been clever since we were children. He guards us now, he’ll guard our Realm soon, and then he’ll return to guard our secrets.”

“What about me?” Surt turned, taking Ymir’s hands and swinging her about in a half dance like they once did when they were children, however both of them now had grown much more graceful. “My namesake, does it come from these myths mother loved so?”

Ymir laughed at the childish maneuver. “Yes, however, yours is not quite as appealing. On the Ragnarok, the ending of our world, your namesake cut apart the world with his flaming sword. Strange, that is, unless you tear apart our Realm.”

“I would never!”

“Perhaps mother liked the strength of the Giant Surt rather than his actual deeds.” Ymir pondered, allowing Surt to continue leading her on in the awkward half dance. “I must say, you have the passion, the fire, to be likened to Surt.”

Surt smiled once more, twisting her about. They reached the carriage shortly and stepped inside. “And what did mother have to say about the Heathens? What created them?”

Ymir thought. “Mother told me that the Heathens were the beginning of the end. See the Ragnarok is the end of the world, but it’s a cyclical thing. It’s a war between the Giants and the Gods and it literally destroys the world before they raise it once more. She said the Heathens are mercenaries sent from the Giants, meant to seek out heroes and Gods alike and destroy them before they can prevent what is coming. She said that the Heathens were the very reason that she named us the way she did. We are meant to birth the heroes and be the Gods that stop the Ragnarok from beginning.”

“If it must happen, then why should we fight it?”

“Don’t you think if it were an unpreventable event that it would have happened by now? The Heathens are centuries old. They haven’t overwhelmed us yet, let’s not give up hope. I don’t suppose you want to be the last Lord of the Northern Realm?”

Surt shook his head with a weary laugh. “I don’t want to be the last. But I want to be the greatest.”

Ymir smiled. “And so you shall.”

As silence fell over the two, Ymir watched outside the window as decorative streets and homes stood tall, less looming than during the funeral procession, but not quite appealing to Ymir. She didn’t like the white and gold that strung across above them, and she didn’t like the forcibly pleasant peoples waving at her. She recognized the blacksmith’s apprentice, a strapping boy she used to sneak out to train with, she didn’t recognize anyone else however.

When the carriage stopped, Ymir took a deep breath, nerves suddenly catching her by the throat. Surt leaned forward and kissed her forehead. “Ymir, you will be better off now. I can’t give you a happy life, how lonely you would be! Tyr is the mightiest Warrior we have at our disposal, and handsome too! Smile, dearest, and let us go.”

Ymir forced a smile and stepped forward. Surt opened the carriage and stood straight, he was tall, but Ymir was just as tall. They could have passed for twins if Surt had freckles. Surt held out a hand and waited for Ymir to take it and step down. When she looked about she saw the cheering and happiness of the people around her. Noblewomen dressed in red, the noblemen standing ramrod straight, drinks in hand. Their noise and celebration seemed muted to her, but Ymir stepped forward anyway, as a path opened up towards the entrance of the building.

Surt led her forward and Ymir kept her head high. She was the only one allowed to wear brown and gold, and she strained to see Tyr. She did not have to strain long, as they entered, the building opened up to be an elaborately decorated atrium like room. In the center, stood Tyr, dressed in black, with speckles of blue scattered across his chest. Leather straps around his biceps and thighs, he wore silver wrist gauntlets that shimmered in the lighting. He was the personification of the sky, and today, the earth and sky would meet to become one.

Surt melted into the crowd as Ymir was handed off to take the arm of her fiancé. He smiled down at her with a charming smile, and Ymir, in turn faked a shy smile herself. Upon their meeting, the crowds went silent and Surt and Heimdall stepped forward once more, finally, the officiator appeared. “By the Gods, we must sit.” He announced, silence fell and everyone sat down. The spectators sat at their seats while Ymir, Tyr, Ymir’s brothers, and a man Ymir did not recognize sat down, crossing their legs. “Link hands, blessed couple.”

Ymir and Tyr did so, grasping hands in a specific way, hooking thumbs and lining their fingers together. “Today, we wed two of the mightiest of the Northern Realm! We watch the joining of two souls, two great people shall become one, and shall rise above us all. Today, in love, Tyr, the mightiest Titanic Warrior shall pledge himself to our dearest Lady Ymir, daughter of Lord Ragnarok and sister of Lord Surt.”

Ymir zoned out slightly, thinking about what she was about to do. “Now, Lady Ymir, pledge yourself.”

Ymir snapped her head up to look directly at Tyr. “I pledge my mind, body, and soul to be completely at the command of my dearest husband, to serve and care for the love of my life, I pledge all that I am to the great Tyr, Titanic Warrior of the North.”

A few moments later, Tyr rumbled. “I pledge my mind, body, and soul to protect what is dear to me, my darling wife, and when it so comes, my strong family, I shall command my wife in mercy and adoration, I pledge all that I am to Lady Ymir, daughter of the great Lord Ragnarok and sister to the mighty Lord Surt.”

“Now, mark upon your faces with the earth.” An ancient ceramic jar was set between them, filled with blackened earth clay. Together, Ymir and Tyr moved their right hands to take a small scoop of the clay and mark the face of the other. Ymir marked carefully on his forehead a crescent sun, and upon his chin a wavy line resembling water. On his cheeks three horizontal lines, the top for the Gods, the second for her people, the bottom for the earth. Tyr marked the same lines on Ymir’s face and the two wiped their hands on a rag provided for them.

“And now, for the eternal markings of your marriage.” The officiator gestured for Ymir to remove Tyr’s shirt enough to expose his breast, she placed her hand on his chest, just over his heart and words said in a strange tongue caused a slight burning sensation under Ymir’s palm. Tyr grit his teeth in pain and after the searing ceased, Ymir removed her hand, leaving black handprint over Tyr’s heart.

Next, Tyr moved Ymir’s clothing just enough to slip his hands beneath the thin cloth and press his hand over her heart. The burning was intense, but Ymir grit her teeth and it was over in only a few minutes. When Tyr removed his hand, a roar went up in the crowd around them and the two were ushered into a horse drawn carriage to be taken to another location for the celebration.

The celebration began with a huge feast, Ymir sat to the left of Surt at the head of the table, and Tyr on her left. Heimdall sat across from her at Surt’s right, and various nobles filled the table shortly thereafter, congratulating her and smiling, red blushes on their cheeks from too much drink so early in the day.

Tyr was much more outgoing, he smiled and thanked the spectators for their support. “Ah, Ymir, this is my brother.” Tyr introduced the man Ymir had not recognized at the ceremony. “His name is Nate.”

Nate shook her hand shyly. “A pleasure my Lady,” Ymir could still smell the earth from him, he was obviously a farmer.

“The pleasure is mine, I’ve yet to meet any of my dear husband’s family.”

Nate shook his head. “I’m all that’s left, my Lady, even then, we’re not related by blood.”

“Oh brother,” Tyr laughed. “Your family took me in, raised me as their own, as far as I’m concerned, we are blood.”

Ymir smiled graciously as Nate was ushered off and the feast began. Ymir gave up on keeping track of how much wine Tyr and her brothers drank, but she knew Tyr hadn’t drunken too much.

“My Ymir, dance with me!” Tyr proposed jovially, as the last plates of food were taken away, extending his hand to her.

“You’re drunk, love.” Ymir giggled.

“Of course I am! It’s our wedding celebration! Dance with me!” His cheeks were tinged with pink as he let out a boisterous laugh.

Ymir, incapable of resisting his puppy-like begging, took his hand. They entered the dance floor first as a peppy folk song Ymir vaguely recognized began. She knew the dance to it well, since her nighttime adventures did not always include vicious sparring with the village boys, but also lots of peasant dances. Tyr and Ymir fell into step so quickly it almost looked choreographed. The folk dance resembled a waltz, but it was much faster and involved a lot more complicated footwork than a traditional waltz. Ymir was astonished at Tyr’s exceptional performance, the precision and timing required a great deal of skill, and Ymir knew for a fact that alcohol should have inhibited him more than it did.

Heimdall watched the two proudly while Surt brought another woman he hadn’t seen before away to a deserted chamber. Heimdall couldn’t help but note that his sister almost resembled something akin to happiness as she danced along with her husband.

Ymir and Tyr retired quickly after a dance to sit away from the music and dancing. “Ah, I must say Ymir, you do look beautiful today.”

Ymir rolled her eyes. “And I look like shit the other days?”

Tyr laughed loudly. “I can’t get over it when you speak like that. It seems so foreign.”

Ymir smirked. “Well, you have awhile to get used to it.” She poked his chest, right where her handprint now sat permanently.

Tyr shook his head. “You know, I’m not going to make you do anything you don’t want to.”

Ymir looked up, searching for sincerity in his expression. She nodded slowly. “I suppose I don’t have to say aloud just what it is that I don’t wish to do.”

Tyr shook his head, tucking a strand of hair from her face. “No, you don’t have to say anything.”

Ymir couldn’t believe she was doing this, but she wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him. The first time she’d really hugged anyone in quite a while. She supposed perhaps Tyr could be her friend. Or more than just a friend, she supposed he could quickly become her best friend. “Thank you,” His arms wrapped around her slender waist was the only response she received.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry about the longer wait, but midterms were last week and I just needed a few days to recover. Anyway, hope y'all enjoyed! Review maybe?


	3. Chapter 3

Ymir had never been on a horse before. Her horse was midnight black, its name was Susan, and Susan hated just about everything, except for Tyr. Tyr rode majestically beside her on his own blonde horse, and from what Ymir could remember, Tyr’s horse loved sugar.

“My Ymir, Susan doesn’t like cooperating with you does she?” Tyr laughed as Ymir grit her teeth, trying to yank the reins around so that Susan would continue following Tyr.

Ymir sent a playful glare back. “Of course not, she has a particularly bristled personality.”

“Not unlike you,”

Ymir laughed. “I wish you weren’t right.” She smiled fondly as she observed her surroundings. They were in a lightly forested area, though they travelled on a common trade route they were almost completely alone for this stretch of the road. They talked to just about everyone they passed, and Tyr had already garnered quite a few followers, pledging their allegiance to him by swearing upon their earthly souls. Ymir knew that when a peasant pledged in such a way that they would not go back on their word, after all, they do not wish to perish in hell for all of eternity. Ymir knew that the only way to gain a noble following was to convince them to endow money to their cause. “Tyr, where is it that we’re going again?”

“The outskirts of the Northern Realm. You mentioned that the peasants there were agitated. Nothing better than stirring up some already angry peasants to our cause.”

“If we’re just going to kill off my brother, why do we need to bother with a strong following?”

Tyr smiled back at her. “Well, if we want to prevent another rebellion like the one we’re causing, then we want the people on our side. Also, if the people trust us, it will make it much easier to unite the Cardinals. I believe I told you that the Southern Realm can’t fight worth a damn? Well, that’s all well and good, but they have the most prosperous agricultural trade, without the South, we’d all die of starvation in the winter. The East can fight sure, not nearly as well as us, but they’re much more of a manufacturing state, they control more factories and mining than we do in the North. The West actually borders an ocean, they have a good source of food, a place to go when they need to hide, and they have that entire ocean to build ships and a navy. Of course, it’s dangerous, Heathens don’t breathe and therefore don’t drown when they’re dropped under water. So if you’re on a boat, you want to be in water deeper than the largest Heathen. But that doesn’t mean that their boats can’t be used in the case of a siege. As you know, in the Northern Realm we mainly hunt for furs in the wintertime and provide the greatest Warriors the Cardinals have ever known. If we want to take over the entire Cardinal Kingdom, then we need the consent of the people, and then perhaps things won’t be so bad for the peasant class, prices won’t rise so high so fast due to the spotty trade system we have set in place now.”

Ymir remained silent for a little while. “Tyr, when we visit the West, can I see the ocean?”

Tyr’s smile widened. “Of course, it’s dangerous, but I’ll be there to keep any of those Heathens at bay.”

They stopped for the night at a small clearing. They hadn’t run into anyone the rest of the day, and they found the area deserted. “So, the outskirts can be dangerous, it’s where the criminals and poorest people live. They’ll steal when they can, but I want you to know how to defend yourself in case they wish to take more than our possessions.” He sent a cursory glance down her body. “I figure if I’m going to teach you to fight, I’ll teach you defense first.”

Ymir nodded, looking at him levelly. “I didn’t expect you to fulfill that promise.”

Tyr scoffed. “I always make good on my word.”

Ymir finished up her chores, brushing away the campsite for a fire and fixing the tent, but when she turned to Tyr, she found that he had simply disappeared. “Ty-“

Someone slammed into her back, lifting her off her feet for a moment. Ymir flailed, sending her elbow into her attacker’s gut, she kicked her feet back and scraped up his shins. She scratched at his muscular arms before she was finally dropped and her attacker chuckled. She whipped around, coming face to face with Tyr. “You did well, you have better instinct than most.”

“Is that so fucking shocking?” Ymir snarled, struggling to regain what was left of her wounded pride.

Tyr shook his head, wiping a tear from his eye. “Not at all, come here, I’ll show you where to hit.” Ymir did as she was told as Tyr wrapped his burly arms around her waist. “Now, your first move was to elbow me in the gut, no? That’s very good, but try to aim here.” He took her elbow and guided it to his solar plexus. “This hit will knock the wind from my lungs, it’ll hurt and your attacker will most likely drop you. But in case he doesn’t, swing your fist down, hit him in the groin. He’ll have to be made of iron to resist that kind of hit. But, there’s always that possibility. So, you did a good thing with kicking my shins, however another good hit would be to bring your heel up to hit him in the groin if you can’t get leverage enough to use your fists. So, let’s see you defend me again.” Tyr released her and stepped back. Ymir turned to watch him but instead he gestured for her to turn around again.

Ymir felt his presence before he had fully enveloped her and she had him doubled over in a few seconds. For good measure, she kicked his ribs and forced him to the ground. He coughed for a few minutes before gasping for air. “Is this a fucking joke?” He gasped. “There’s no way you haven’t been trained before.”

Ymir allowed herself a smirk. “I snuck out every night to play with the village kids, which included wrestling and fighting. One of the boys happened to be the blacksmith’s apprentice and actually knew a thing or two about weapons. For the most part I’ve taught myself how to fight pretty well.”

Tyr struggled to his feet. “Well, yeah, but you haven’t learned to defend yourself when it wasn’t a fair fight. My Ymir, if there’s one thing I ever impart to you, it’s that fights, the world, is never fair. Nothing is ever fair. As children, we always complain and whine about this or that not being fair, but the truth of the matter is, you must always be prepared to give yourself the advantage. Take it for yourself, steal it if you must.”

Ymir crossed her arms and cocked an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”

Tyr shook his head. “It’s about survival, always put yourself first.”

Ymir scoffed. “As if I’m not doing so already.”

Tyr smiled. “I know, that is why I married you, no?” Tyr’s smile faded slightly. “Come here.”

“Why?”

Tyr turned his back and walked over to his pack. “I wanted to give this to you after you’d learned a thing or two about fighting, but since you already do, I think I should give this to you now.” He pulled a longer, rectangular box.

“What is it?” Ymir asked as she hesitantly approached him.

Tyr, still sat on the ground, handed it to her. “Open it.”

Ymir opened the box to find a beautiful dagger. The hilt was of bone, and the carvings in it depicted a scene from the theology her mother forced her to study. The blade curved slightly but etched into the blade, her name danced across the metal, and not just her name, but her title. “My Ymir, Great Empress of the Cardinal Empire.” Ymir murmured aloud. “I’m certainly not an empress, Tyr.”

Tyr laughed. “Oh wait, My Ymir, you’ll be the first and the greatest. I swear to it.”

Ymir scoffed, sheathing the blade in a leather belt. She strapped the belt to her waist and the weight settled comfortably on her hips. It felt natural to have a weapon on her hip and although she was unsure of her new title, Ymir was sure they’d dethrone her brother at the very least. “We should focus on our first task before dreaming of the future, Tyr.”

 

 

Peasants, Ymir found, were weak and easily recruited to do anything against the monarchy, and when they found that Ymir supported the revolt against Surt, they were encouraged further to join their cause. However, Ymir found she didn’t like being around the peasants nearly as much as she thought she would. The peasants were subject to just as much groupthink as the nobility she dealt with. Peasants were as selfish as nobility, but they tended to be more brooding. She of course couldn’t voice her observations, because Ymir knew that in her battles she was going to need the massive numbers the peasants provided them.

Finally, after three weeks of recruiting, the two returned to the Northern capital. Ymir followed Tyr graciously as they entered their new home. It was a small home, surprisingly small, however it was closer to Tyr’s headquarters than any other place they could call home. Ymir entered slowly, her hands dancing across the wall as she paced the hall. “My Ymir, we’ll be expecting guests soon. My top captains will be coming to discuss business.” Tyr followed her.

“Very well,”

“They are our allies.”

This caught Ymir’s attention. “Our allies?”

“These men are my subordinates, but I have slowly been garnering our soldiers’ allegiance. I also have orders from your brother. Though he wants to meet with us at noon, tomorrow we must travel again towards the Northern outskirts, I wish to take you with me, however I won’t drag you along if you don’t wish to come with me.”

Ymir shrugged. “I’ll come along, Tyr. Your advisors, are you certain of their allegiance?”

“Absolutely, they’ve followed me since boot camp.”

Ymir nodded. “I should change for our conference with my brother.”

 

 

Ymir was surprised, instead of being led to the great Throne room, she and her husband were guided to her brother’s personal bed chambers. Surt sat in an armchair, cape draped over the arm. He had large bags under his eyes and Ymir noticed that his lips were chapped and bleeding from gnawing on them.

Ymir and Tyr took a seat, happy to snack and sip at the tea and cheeses brought to them by personal handmaidens of Surt. He hardly glanced up at first until Tyr cleared his throat. “My Lord Tyr, you summoned us?”

Surt’s eyes snapped to them and he let out a sigh. “Yes, I have a strange order to give you. Nothing I can risk any guests from hearing in the throne room. Ymir, this is something you’ll be better with, but er, five years ago, there was a peasant woman, and I’m not proud but-“ Surt shook his head, Ymir thought she had an idea where this story was heading. “She died, two weeks ago. And well, now, er. I suppose I should show you.” Surt nodded to a servant and Ymir noticed that his hands had begun to shake. “No one can ever know about this, Ymir, you know that. Bastards don’t fare well around here-“

A timid, blonde boy entered the room. He was shaking nearly as much as his broad shouldered father, but it was obvious he had no idea what was going on. He had bright blue eyes, but right now, they were filled with tears. Ymir frowned. “Surt, what is the meaning of this?”

“I can’t risk sending him away, the boy knows his heritage, he could spread the word around and my reputation would be ruined. I didn’t even know about him until now. I think my saving grace is that he doesn’t look like me.” Surt shook his head, sending a filthy look towards the little boy. “I want to give him to you, I can trust you, and he’ll serve you as a servant or something. Find some use for him, I don’t care. He can only bring me ruin.”

The little boy’s eyes widened with fear and shame. Ymir narrowed her eyes at the scene. She knew her brother was ignorant, but she didn’t have him pegged as heartless as well. “Boy,” She called to him. “Come here.”

Tyr sent her a confused, nearly offended glance. The little boy timidly approached her, perhaps scared of her intimidating stare. “Ymir-“ Tyr began but Ymir silenced him with a look.

“Boy,” She addressed the blonde again. “What is your name?”

The little boy shivered once more. “Vladimyr, son of Surt, Lord of the Northern Realm.”

Ymir leaned back further. “I’m sure you’ve realized that the Lord has no room for you in his estate?” The little boy nodded again. “Very well, you will come with my husband and I, you must deny your lineage just as your father has denied you.”

Vladimyr nodded again and clutched his hands together, bowing his head. “Y-yes, Lady Ymir.”

Ymir looked back to her brother, trying to hide her outrage. “I must admit, brother, you are making a mistake. The boy looks strong, he could do much for you.”

Surt shook his head. “You know father’s opinions on bastards. The Realm would not accept him as successor. He must go somewhere where our secrets are safe. I am no longer your father, boy.”

Ymir stood abruptly. “We must go then.”

“Tyr, please stay, I have more to discuss with you.” Surt called out, stopping him from leaving as well.

“I’ll be along briefly, My Ymir.”

Ymir bowed her head and swept away, calling the boy after her. He followed her with shaking legs as tears began to streak across his face. Once they had gotten far enough away from the chambers of her brother, Ymir stopped and turned to the little boy. “Stand up straight.” Ymir spoke, perhaps too sharply to the little boy.

As he struggled to regain composure and control over himself, Ymir kneeled before him. She produced a handkerchief from the folds of her dress and dabbed at his cheeks carefully. “We can’t have you crying as you follow me from the estate.” She murmured to him. “Tell me your name again.”

“Vladimyr, son of, er,”

Ymir smiled slightly. “Never mind your title. Your name is Vladimyr, for now. We’ll find you a suitable surname once my husband returns. You are still young, we can teach you well. I cannot stress to you the importance that you trust us, and that you keep your mouth shut in the presence of strangers. When asked questions, you will answer with ‘yes’, ‘no’, or ‘I don’t know’ and if they are not yes or no questions, you will leave them to me to be answered. Understand?”

The little boy nodded. “Father told me that I would serve you…”

“We’ll see what happens. We hardly need another servant boy.” His face fell. “Vladimyr, you will find your place.”

Ymir stood once more, his face had dried and he had stopped shaking so much, and led him from the estate, back to her own home. Ymir ordered him to sit down on the couch, offering him a sip of water. His feet didn’t touch the ground, in fact, his legs hardly dangled from his seat. Ymir had to admit it was kind of cute.

Ymir kept the kid occupied by talking to him. She found that he had as much interest in theology as her mother, so she entertained him with stories about the gods and giants until Tyr entered the room with stormy eyes.

“I’m disgusted!” He boomed, slamming a fist into a wall. “My Ymir, I can hardly imagine the patience required to live with that revolting man!”

Vladimyr’s shaking returned and Ymir sighed. “Tyr, calm yourself.”

Tyr’s eyes followed her gaze to the little boy they now had charge of. “What are we going to do with him?”

Ymir shook her head. “He’s too young to be a servant.”

Tyr grumbled as he sat down. “Perhaps I can train him personally, he can join a task force or something when he’s old enough. Train him to lead soldiers perhaps. He can join our cause.”

Ymir nodded, looking back to the boy. “You’ll be a strong warrior one day Vladimyr, we’ll make sure of it.” Ymir cleared her throat and looked up at Tyr. “His surname?”

“I have no idea, he’s strong, give him a strong name.” Tyr shrugged. “I need to prepare for my meeting.”

Ymir grumbled as he left her alone in the room. “What do you think?”

The little boy shrugged. “I dunno.”

Ymir sighed. “That’ll come later. Now come. I’ll show you your room.”

 

 

 

Vladimyr turned out to be absolutely beastly in combat. He took down kids a few years older than himself easily. Being coached by Tyr obviously helped, but the kid was strong to begin with. Ymir and Tyr and a few of the instructors for the new recruits scrutinized his every move as he sparred every kid in the classes above him.

“He’s like a lion.” One of the instructors muttered under his breath. “He’s just tearing them all apart.”

“He’s a prodigy.” Tyr smiled proudly.

Ymir leaned towards her husband. “Perhaps his surname should reflect this.”

“Hm, a lion?”

“Leonhardt,” Ymir shrugged. “It’s strong and it doesn’t suggest any direct lineage to any particular line.”

Tyr nodded. “Perfect, Vladimyr Leonhardt, he’ll begin real training in a few weeks, I want him to grow a little bit more in muscle and discipline first.”

Ymir nodded. “I suppose we’ll take him with us to the outskirts as well? You know, I’m sure he’s bitter towards Surt. We can use that. Let him garner that hatred and warp his peers as well.”

Tyr snorted. “Devious, I agree.”

Ymir turned on her heel. “I have lunch with some very influential women in an hour, if everything goes to plan we’ll have two more names to our cause.”

“Very well,” Tyr’s eyes had yet to leave the little blond boy. He had gotten bloodied by a hit he hadn’t quite dodged, but his opponent looked much worse for wear. “This boy is going to be the greatest weapon we can ask for. He’ll be a general before he’s twenty I’m sure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jesus this took forever to update. I'm sorry. School and such got in the way, plus minor writer's block that I'm not sure I'm over yet. However, I have an update! Comments maybe?

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! So my first fic in this fandom and basically I'm just tired of not knowing anything about everything. Ymir has like no backstory and I decided to make a fic based off of that little line you saw in the summary. It's little lines like that that make me happy as a writer. It gives me room to stretch. Please enjoy and don't be afraid to drop a comment! But beware, I may engage you in conversation!


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